You shun me, Chloe, like a fawn that is seeking its timorous mother in
the pathless mountains, not without a vain dread of the breezes and the
thickets: for she trembles both in her heart and knees, whether the
arrival of the spring has terrified by its rustling leaves, or the green
lizards have stirred the bush. But I do not follow you, like a savage
tigress, or a Gaetulian lion, to tear you to pieces. Therefore, quit
your mother, now that you are mature for a husband.
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